I Like To Thimk Atsushi Bumps His Head Onto People Out Of Affection (like A Cat)

Hc that atsushi's pupils dilate like a cats when he's happy or excited

Or when he's fighting his eyes narrow into little slits and he hisses

And when he's eating or looking at akutagawa his eyes get really big

akutagawa: i do not know jinko. i know nothing about him. I do not even know how when he laughs too much he has to lean against something. or that his eyes have a little bit of orange, where the yellow and purple meet. I do not know about his mole on the bottom of his neck. nor do i know that he drinks his coffee really sweet. i do not know that he clips his nails short to not scratch anyone but really likes the illusion guy's sister's longer nails and wishes he could grow his own out a little. i do not know that he likes being outside in various weathers to get to experience them. i do not know ANYTHING about that damned jinko and if you DARE imply that i do again i WILL slit your throat

[Post-canon AU]

1. I'm so tired

2. My HC is that Atsushi is the more possessive of the two (tiger stuff)

3. I rarely draw kisses

4. I hope it looks good And that's how Yasushi's parents got engaged.

Atsushi with more non-human features. Atsushi with reflective eyes that creep out (some of) the ADA. Atsushi with pupils that contract into slits like a cat's when the area is bright. Atsushi with small fangs, canines sharper than a normal persons. Atsushi with heightened senses, who picks up on small details that even Ranpo can't. Atsushi who has naturally more animalistic behaviors and movements. Atsushi who shows affection in strange ways, like headbutting or slow blinking. Atsushi who's ability is wholly a part of him, ingrained in his very being.

Atsushi?

Headcanon A:  realistic

He keeps a notebook about all his new experiences living in Yokohama, but rather than focusing on the fighting and bad things, it’s mostly filled with recipes for different foods and drawings of random things he’s seen.

Headcanon B: while it may not be realistic it is hilarious

Since tigers can’t purr, when Atsushi is in his tiger form, he chuffs, and he makes this noise a lot in his sleep in his human form as well when he’s having a good dream.

Headcanon C: heart-crushing and awful, but fun to inflict on friends

Despite all his efforts, he will probably always have days where he feels like he’s useless, and days where he can’t stop thinking negatively.

Headcanon D: unrealistic, but I will disregard canon about it because I reject canon reality and substitute my own.

As a small child, Atsushi only turned into a tiger cub when he transformed.

Hello

There is not enough BEAST sskk or Kunisig/Kunima ((Kunikida x Sigma)) would you create some for the starving fans

I TOTALLY AGREE WITH YOU ON THE SSKK BEAST OMLLLLLLLL.

BEAST SSKK AND KUNISIG HCs

SSKK Beast Headcanons!!

Aku confessed first but it sounded more of a mission. Atsushi misunderstood and took it way too seriously. When Aku was able to find the correct words, Atsushi nearly imploded from embarrassment.

Atsushi love language is touch and acts of service. He does that thing that cats do and keeps giving Aku dead birds. Aku tells him to stop, it makes people uncomfortable, Atsushi misunderstood and started bringing live birds.

Aku likes to holds hands a lot. Atsushi assumes its because he’s clingey, but it’s actually because his hands are freezing. Atsushi is a little portable heater, and Aku just attaches to him like hair to a balloon.

Atsushi and Aku have no idea how money actually works. They keep trying to pay for shit with things and it gets them in trouble. Atsushi however manages to get things this way, and Aku doesn’t know what he’s doing wrong.

Aku convinces Mori to allow him to take Atsushi to the farmlands. Atsushi keeps threatening to eat the cow if someone tells him to leave Aku’s side. (He won’t, but that is one less cow lol)

Aku sleeps in wierd ass spots, usually up high. Atsushi finds him, and lays on top. Example: if Aku is laying in a tree, Atsushi will lay on top and his limbs will dangle.

Atsushi won’t wear other clothes. Aku has to basically box, cheese, and string him into the shower. Atsushi is more likely to bathe if Aku does it for him. (He can do it on his own, he’s just busy and wants Aku’s attention.)

Atsushi yowls when he’s mad. Only Aku has caught him doing it, and no one believes him when he tells them the White Reaper is more catlike then they think.

After Atsushi rehabilitation at Mori’s orphanage, he can finally work at the agency. He does really well with his coworkers but won’t leave Aku’s side. Fukuzawa ends up giving up, and that's when Atsushi decides that he doesn’t need to be stuck on Aku all the time. Poor Mr. President.

Atsushi does really well with the no-harm rule. If he sees Aku fucking shit up though, he will also cause havoc.

Kunikida X Sigma Headcanons

Note: I have not considered this at all. I took a lot of time to think about how they work together.

How they got together:

Kunikida at first was not interested. He would give Sigma a look and walk off. Sigma just assumed it was because he was an ex-rat. He just focuses on becoming a detective.

Dazai makes Sigma one of his underlings and often works with Atsushi the most. In some cases, Sigma needs to work with Dazai and Kunikida. They don’t work well at first because they keep tripping over each other. They do not communicate well. Kunikida doesn’t get mad at him, though he is a little frustrated it keeps happening. After the case, Sigma offers to get to know each other a little better. Kunikida offers to do some training together to try to find a middle ground so they can work with each other effectively.

They have a good understanding of right and wrong. Sigma opens up about being manipulated and Kunikida promised him he would never. It’s against his ideals. Sigma took that seriously, and had a strong respect for Kunikida.

The training they do actually works really well. Atsushi and Sigma are able to train together. Sigma asks Kunikida more private training to try to catch up and Kunikida obliged. It was all fine till Kunikida pinned him, and they stared at each other. This was the moment they caught feelings, and Ranpo walked in. They try to explain it, but Ranpo thinks it’s funny.

They got really awkward with each other for a bit. Kunikida starts unraveling that Sigma messed up his life plan. Dazai starts picking up that Kunikida is a mess, and starts picking on him. Kunikida blows up and basically has a nervous breakdown. Confessing that he likes someone, he wants to change his ideals and plans to consider the possibility of being in a relationship. Dazai did not do the right thing, and just teased him.

Kunikida keeps running into Sigma. Literally, he can’t stop tripping into him. Sigma accuses him of doing it on purpose, but in all actuality, Kunikida is fated to trample Sigma.

Dazai figures out that those two have this fling after Sigma helped Kunikida up. He sees them staring at each other and was like “:O these bitches gay… GOOD FOR THEM” and now has a twisted obsession to get them together.

Dazai convinces Kunikida that Sigma is in trouble, and Kunikida doesn’t question that Dazai told him to get the closet. Dazai locks them in. Kunikida and Sigma realize this is a trap. Dazai had switched the doorknob, so the lock was on the other side. Sigma pouts that Dazai manipulated him again, and Kunikida comforts him. (He is so gonna beat the shit outta Dazai.) Sigma is the first to confess, and Kunikida nearly blew up. His response was just syllables, and Sigma thought it was cute. Kunikida calms down and returns the confession. They start to plan their first kiss. They end up freaking each other out because they are getting ahead of themselves. It wasn’t till the next day they were released. (Dazai forgot)

Sigma sees Kunikida stress out, and ends up just kissing him there. The nerves start to die down. After the worst of the worst got out of the way, they were making a better effort to talk. Sigma enjoyed the fact that Kunikida was a good man. Sigma didn’t keep up his guard around Kunikida and it started to become aggressively obvious.

They start officially started dating. Regardless of Kunikida’s ideal rule to never date a coworker, he can’t separate from Sigma.

Cute things they do:

Sigma is not a morning person at all. Kunikida wakes up at 6 am every day. He notices Sigma struggles to wake. He gives soft kisses on his brow and makes his coffee.

Sigma often debates Kunikida about topics. They have a lot of things in common, but Sigma thinks Kunikida tends to be self sacrificing. This is often the main topic of their debates.

Kunikida actually really likes Sigma’s hair. He loves to brush it after a bad day. Sigma doesn’t quite understand why Kunikida wants to deal with that mess but loves the attention that he gets from it.

Kunikida taught Sigma to cook. (Something Sigma is embarrassed to admit has no idea how to do). Sigma likes it when Kunikida comes up from behind him and helps him cook that way. He plays dumb, and Kunikida is actually worried he has memory problems.

Kunikida’s love language is acts of service. He loves doing Sigma’s laundry. Sigma assumes it’s because he loves being able to smell him, but Kunikida just really like laundry.

Kunikida loves to guide Sigma with a hand to his back. Sigma will get upset and lift Kunikida’s hand to his back. Kunikida found it weird at first but later found it second nature to touch Sigma’s back when he started to read Sigma’s mood.

Neither are romantic. They actually really suck at it. They try to be romantic but it ends up going really bad and they end up just spending alone time together. They work better just existing together than trying to set up the scene.

Kunikida started using pet names, and Sigma gets flustered. If Sigma starts barking at Atsushi or Dazai, Kunkida will just tell him, “Hey darling, let's not.” And Sigma is tamed. Sigma can’t say anything verbally to get Kunikida to stop lecturing Dazai. He ends up dragging Kunikida to private and kisses him. Kunikida and Sigma would come back kinda scruffed up, and returns to work.

i like to imagine byakko only lets dazai transform her back to atsushi in ways she likes to bully him

if u dont know, my general headcanon is that byakko still overtakes atsushi completely during full moons (i mean... weretiger) but she's no longer aggressive becuz atsushi is no longer abused/alone/in danger so she just hangs around, takes walks, goes hunting, tries to eat ranpo, ya know the normal stuff

but sometimes if atsushi is scared or anxious or stressed, she'll just take over, especially at night time (weretiger i mean come on) but like still, she's chill

anyway a lot of the time she takes over and the ada get called in and need atsushi or just need atsushi back for whatever reason, dazai has to use his ability on her

and she's surprisingly nonchalant about it... kinda

dazai: okay byakko, lets have atsushi bacmphfasdfj

byakko, stalking forward to slap her paw against his face:

/

dazai: byakko there u r, enjoying the stars?

byakko, calmly walking over, getting on hind legs to place her front paws on dazai's covered shoulders:

dazai: aww missed me

byakko, licking his face:

dazai: mph-afjsslkf eww stop that

atsushi, transforming back: huh? where am i... dazai san why is ur face wet

/

dazai, seeing byakko and waving at her: there u are!! be a good kitty- oh no ... no bad kitty... stay back bad kitt-

byakko, leaping of whichever building she was on to run full speed at dazai and tackle him to the ground, transforming back to atsushi in the process:

atsushi, waking up dazed and confused on a vaguely injured dazai: wha? *falls asleep*

/

dazai: here kitty kitty

byakko: >:(

dazai: aww are u mad at me?

byakko turning away dramatically and letting her tail slap dazai across the face:

/

sometimes she's nice and puts her face against dazai's and gives him a little greeting or lets him try to pet her or grabs the end of his coat and starts dragging him away or bites his hand or sits on him or sits still and lets him transforms her back

“over and over, all born into great pain” — bungou stray dogs — chuuya, atsushi, dazai

“Atsushi appears on Chuuya’s doorstep covered in blood and full of drugs. Dazai, despite not being present, dutifully haunts the narrative. or: Strangers who’ve been shaped by the same person. or or: 4,000-ish words of musing and vibes and no plot.” — posted for @dazaibirthdayweek2024 !

words: 3,925

first published: 6/18/2024

characters: dazai osamu, nakahara chuuya, nakajima atsushi

relationships: nakahara chuuya & nakajima atsushi, dazai osamu & nakajima atsushi, nakahara chuuya/dazai osamu

tags: mild hurt/comfort, light angst, introspection, no plot/plotless, implied/reference drug use, non-consensual drug use (off-screen), mild gore, tiger nakajima atsushi, implied/referenced cannibalism (crazy), caring nakahara chuuya

crossposted on ao3

Dazai’s stupid kid is crumpled on Chuuya’s doorstep.

Chuuya had wanted to head down to the liquor store. Instead, his boots hit boy as soon as he stepped out the door. Fucking Dazai, Chuuya thinks, because it must be Dazai’s fault.

Chuuya sighs. He turns back to his empty penthouse, as though expecting Dazai to pop out from behind his couch and shout surprise! then announce to him some stupid plan that absolutely necessitates the weretiger bleeding out in the hall.

“Weretiger,” Chuuya says. The weretiger gives a noncommittal grunt. Copper is already filling the air and seeping into the carpet from a wound that must be in the kid’s torso, way he’s doubled over it. God, the stain in the carpet. Chuuya should just get the carpet ripped out, with how often he has to call the cleaners. Doesn’t the kid have superhuman healing? Chuuya squints. Shouldn’t he be healed already?

“Weretiger,” Chuuya says again. The kid’s shoulder shifts a centimeter and that’s about all the response he gets. Well, okay. Questions later. First things first — the weretiger rises into the air and floats into the middle of the living room. His eyes flutter, but he doesn’t seem to register the red glow around him.

“Bwuh,” the weretiger says. A conveniently stashed sheet of plastic (this is not Chuuya’s first rodeo) lifts up and settles over the couch cushions. The weretiger follows. “Bwuuuhhgggg,” he says smartly into the plastic. His left arm is a long pale line hanging off the couch, which Chuuya’s black Maine-coon is already clawing at. The weretiger seems unperturbed by this.

“Uh-huh.” The first aid kit deposits itself into his hands as he strides over to the couch. “Lemme see that wound.”

Except there’s nothing to see. Under the ripped up shirt and all the clotting blood and bits of loose flesh, it’s just smooth skin. So his ability has done its work, if belatedly. Some of this blood is only a few minutes old. It healed fast, but not as fast as it ought’ve. But the weretiger is still acting all loopy, whimpering like something hurts. Just blood loss? That doesn’t feel right.

Chuuya sits himself on his coffee table, knees bumping the couch. “What’s your name again?” It’s somewhere in the back of his mind, but all he ever hears is Akutugawa’s jinkos.

“Naka…” the weretiger starts, then seems to forget he was saying anything. He turns to the cat as though he only just realized she was drawing tracks down his arm, and coos, scratching at her chin. His pupils are huge. Ah, that’s one question answered at least. A hard drug hindered his healing — and it would have disoriented him enough to panic, go out searching for help. Now the question was what drug, why, and how the fuck did his mind, even drug-addled, end up at Chuuya?

“Naka…” Chuuya echoes, scratching his chin. He really should know this, considering the scuffles and the bounty and the general hot topic the boy was around the Port Mafia. The weretiger does not provide any more help. He is entirely caught up with the cat. Now fully turned onto his side, the weretiger has both hands around the cat’s face, scratching dutifully under both her ears. She purrs like a motorboat.

“Hello,” he says reverently. Big-eyed, he tilts forward until he and the cat can touch noses. When he smiles Chuuya catches braces and grimaces. “Hello, hello, meow.”

“Mrow,” the cat offers.

“Nakajima!” Chuuya finally settles on, triumphant. Nakajima looks up at him fully for the first time, grinning with a Dazai-like edge. Well — tree, apple, falling, etc. Chuuya supposes he’s not so much grinning like Dazai as he is grinning like someone high on nebulous hard drugs, which Dazai often is.

“What’s her name?” Nakajima asks, glossy eyes settling somewhere on Chuuya’s chin.

“Pingus,” Chuuya says, and Nakajima dissolves into giggle fits. He rolls over, pushing himself into the back of the couch, giggling so hard his feet kick out. Pingus, scandalized, climbs onto the couch and begins kneading at Atsushi’s side, trying to force her head under his hands. “What!” Chuuya says, even though he’s listened to a hundred people laugh at his cat’s name before. “It’s a fine Spanish wine, Nakajima, does your idiot mentor teach you anything—”

Nakajima’s laughter stops abruptly. Everything about him stops abruptly. He pushes himself up onto his forearms and Chuuya realizes he hates the sight of him — collapsed on Chuuya’s fine couch, which he’d bought with blood money; white hair and moonlight skin and tatters of a white shirt, all matted and sticky with his own blood, bits of flesh trailing down his stomach. He’s got, Chuuya realizes, red smears all over his chin, his neck, and if he opened his mouth a little wider it might be on his teeth, too. Chuuya had always thought the kid sweet, a bit naive, earnest and reckless. Akutugawa had called him a stupid dog. He wonders about the man-eating tiger stories; wonders what Dazai saw in him in the first place that he thought would make a good partner for Akutugawa. He wonders what Dazai’s taught the kid - what he’s nurtured in him.

“Dazai,” Nakajima says, just as reverential as when he’d been speaking to Pingus. “Dazai told me to come here.” Out of his front pocket, he pulls a crumpled, slightly damp piece of notebook paper and holds it out to Chuuya. He grins big, proud of himself.

A safe place in case of emergency! :D It reads, in Dazai’s stupid messy scrawl. Chuuya will be kind and keep Atsushi for a bit. Tell Chuuya Dazai sent you!

Below these instructions are Chuuya’s address, his phone number (Jesus, Dazai, Chuuya thinks — might as well start plastering Chuuya’s face all over Main Street), and, of course, nothing directed at Chuuya.

Chuuya sighs, runs a hand through his hair. Fucking Dazai — what was he thinking, sending Nakajima his way? Did he tell his whole gaggle of do-gooders Chuuya’s place was a safehouse? And why the hell would he send Nakajima straight into the Mafia’s hands?

(Unless, of course, he believed Chuuya would decline to tell the Mafia about this at all. It was a big risk, believing that.)

“So.” Chuuya leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees. He studies Nakajima, whose chest is heaving, every breath coming with a hint of a wheeze. Did he overdose? Chuuya taps his foot, considering — he has aspirin in his first-aid kit. Narcan too. “What happened, huh? Too much catnip?”

Nakajima grins lazily (yes, he was right — blood and braces), head lolling against the couch. His arm is limp when Chuuya picks it up, presses two fingers to the pulse point at the inside of his elbow. Nakajima’s offering way too much trust, either because of the drugs or Dazai — Chuuya could stop his blood from flowing at all, if he wanted to. But Dazai would shoot him in the temple, probably.

“I dunno,” Nakajima slurs. His mental condition is definitely unnerving, but at least his pulse feels fine, and his skin isn’t clammy.

Chuuya pinches his inner arm and Nakajima yelps, jolting — his arm becomes monstrous and heavy. Chuuya stares at it, considering the length of its claws. Man-eater, he thinks.

“Huh,” Chuuya says. Then: “Wake up, kid. Tell me what happened.”

“Um.” Pingus is rubbing her face all over Nakajima’s jaw. A deep purr rumbles in Nakajima’s chest to match Pingus’s, which Chuuya is only mildly surprised by. There’s some semblance of awareness in Nakajima’s eyes that Chuuya thinks is due to Pingus’s bothering. She’ll get extra fish with her dinner, as a reward. “Dazai and I were undercover…” Nakajima’s eyes roam the ceiling, running his (both now human, thank God) bony hands up and down Pingus’s back. “Undercover, and… Dazai told me to leave — really fast.”

“Why?”

Nakajima looks frustrated, and Chuuya understands. With a mind addled like his is, it can be hard to put words to things even if you know exactly what you’re trying to explain. But if there’s trouble, there’s no time to wait for Nakajima to sober up.

“Because…” Nakajima says, “He said we were drugged… we were at this fancy party, and I started feeling funny, and Dazai said, go to the Agency, but the Agency was far away… I left him there…” Nakajima jumps up, suddenly, throwing a yowling Pingus off his chest. White knuckling the back of the couch, Nakajima shouts, “Dazai’s in trouble!”

“Calm down.” Chuuya considers reaching out, pushing Nakajima back down onto the couch. That probably wouldn’t go well. “You know Dazai’s fine.” Fine was maybe a strong word, but alive was a fact that seemed to stay true no matter what. “I need more from you. How’d you get injured?”

Nakajima blinks at him. “Injured?”

“Injured,” Chuuya reiterates, pointing at the chunk of yellow fat smeared across Nakijma’s stomach. What a fucking sight. All the hallmarks of a corpse on his couch, except the actual injury.

“Oh,” Nakajima says, squinting down at his own blood. He sort-of snarls as he runs his tongue over his upper teeth, like he just realized the blood on it. “I don’t — remember? I think someone tried to stop me leaving…”

Chuuya puts the images together. Thinks it through — Nakajima and Dazai, both of them completely out of place in some party full of cocktail dresses and tiny sausages. The drugging had to be well hidden for Dazai not to notice, but he would have known the second it slid down his throat. He imagines Dazai’s panicked face — the one no one else ever notices except Chuuya, who is very well attuned to the tiniest twitches of Dazai’s eyebrows — imagines him calculating exactly how many minutes him and Nakajima had, making an estimated guess based on Nakajima’s size and ability and how much he’d unknowingly chugged, and then deciding the kid had enough time to get the hell out of dodge.

Nakajima would have had to leave as discreetly as possible, as though he didn’t know anything was wrong. But if someone had drugged them both, then they were watching them, too. Nakajima had been intercepted, gotten hurt, and — hm. The man-eating thing had only ever been rumors. But if he had claws like that, Chuuya could only imagine the teeth, and what one does when there’s an unknown drug and panic and blood loss all settling in at once. With his efforts to get all the blood off his teeth and out of the crannies of his braces, Nakajima is making a lot of funny faces.

So someone was probably dead. And Dazai was God knows where. And — okay.

Chuuya tilts his head up to the ceiling, ignoring Nakajima, who has once again become preoccupied with Pingus. Question time:

1. Where’s Dazai? Did he get himself out too? Or is he drugged up in someone’s basement?

2. Why Nakajima and not him? If it were one or the other, Dazai would have had a much easier time getting himself out than Nakajima. His tolerance is higher, he probably had less, and, frankly, he’d probably be much more useful in terms of knowledge.

3. For that matter: why not both? Why couldn’t both of them leave? Scratch question 2, then — the only reason Dazai would let himself get caught is if he had a reason to.

4. Fine then, last question, besides why come to Chuuya: how long should Chuuya wait for the stupid mackerel to show his face before he sucks it up and calls the Agency?

Hopefully, he won’t have to deal with the last question. Either Nakajima sobers up soon or Dazai escapes. It’s been a few years and Dazai’s gone weird and soft, but at the very least he should still be totally capable of escaping some stupid fucking kidnappers.

Chuuya should probably add who drugged them to his list of questions, but that’s not really his problem. With the story straight-enough in his head, he just needs to focus on getting Nakajima sober. By the state of the kid’s giant pupils and still-heaving breaths and incessant giggles every time he whispers Pingus to himself, it’ll be a while.

Babysitting duty. Ah, well — Chuuya’s used to babysitting duty, ever since Dazai fucked off and left the Akutugawa kids reeling and helpless. (Not that either of the kids would admit that’s what happened.) Dazai was always leaving him on babysitting duty.

Chuuya sighs, stands, retrieves a blanket. By this point Nakajima’s sunk back down onto the couch, holding a loaf of Pingus against his chest. “Rest up, weretiger,” Chuuya says, throwing the blanket over the both of them. He’ll wash all the viscera and shit off the blanket later.

Nakajima, covered up to his nose, blinks with those big, dual-colored eyes. With a little mrow, Pingus’s head pops out of the blanket and she starts nuzzling Nakajima’s cheek with his nose.

“Are you gonna tell Akutugawa I’m here?” Nakajima asks softly. It should be a question asked with fear, but it’s awfully bland — unafraid. Chuuya’s lips twitch.

“No,” Chuuya says, and heads into the kitchen.

Dazai used to do a lot of cocaine.

He probably doesn’t anymore. Or he’s really good at hiding it. Chuuya doesn’t imagine a cocaine habit would go over well with the detectives, and he doesn’t imagine Dazai could even hide something like that from the smart one. (From the others, he could definitely hide it. But not the super smart one.)

Chuuya’s done it a few times himself, but it’s never been his preference. The dignity of alcohol, the richness of it, and most of all the beauty of it — all those fine, expensive, aged bottles sitting on his shelves — has always appealed to him. But Dazai liked the way things like cocaine got him excited, amplified his mania. He liked uppers, from cigarettes to ritalin to coke, because they made him feel human.

Not that it’s cocaine, Nakajima’s got in him. It’s definitely not cocaine. It was probably ketamine or benzos, an attempt to make Nakajima all loopy and relaxed and weak. That’s not what happened, clearly. At least it’s not what happened immediately, because Nakajima had enough strength in him to escape an attacker. Must’ve been his ability slowing the drug.

It doesn’t matter. This is all to say that Chuuya has more than enough experience sobering himself and others up. He sets to work frying some eggs.

Nakajima’s not asleep; from the other room, Nakajima’s quiet voice wafts in, indistinguishable murmurs interspersed with giggles and Pingus’s mrows. At some point he starts humming a song which Chuuya has to strain his ears to hear. It’s a sweet, lilting melody — his brain fills in the lyrics instantly and his heart twists at the realization that it’s Dazai’s stupid song, can’t do a double suicide alone.

Chuuya slides the eggs off the pan with his spatula and sets them gently on the plate. Then he stops there, stares at the eggs, the shaking yolks. Thinks about being fifteen in Mori’s office, glaring at Dazai, the feeling in his gut that something horrible had changed in his life. Thinks about the stark red marks of Dazai’s hand on Akutugawa’s cheek. Thinks about childrens’ feet pattering softly down the halls of the Port Mafia’s safe houses and headquarters’ halls. Thinks about Nakajima, smiling at Dazai’s name, singing silly tunes Dazai taught him.

Toast pops out of the toaster. It’s a little burnt. Chuuya blinks and takes a breath that does not shake. He flicks on the radio — some public station playing soft jazz — and he can’t hear Nakajima anymore.

When Chuuya returns to the living room with two ham egg and cheese sandwiches, Nakajima pops fully up, although this time he holds Pingus to his chest so she doesn’t fall. The blanket falls, though, and it’s the same as it was before: the remains of a nice shirt falling over thin shoulders, drying brown blood splattering his stomach and chest and arms, his own fucking skin and flesh and fat stuck to him. Chuuya’s seen gore before — seen it a thousand times worse than this — but something about the sight has him keeping his eyes dutifully on Nakajima’s forehead.

Nakajima devours the sandwich in practically one bite, his jaw wider than it ought to be. Chuuya pretends not to be unnerved by this.

Once Nakajima has fully chewed his sandwich and patted his stomach and hummed his thanks, Chuuya asks, “Feel any better?”

The penthouse is cold. Chuuya likes it that way. But Nakajima shivers, pulling the blanket back up, tucking himself back down onto the couch. “A little,” he says, suddenly very childlike. As though he’s only just realized he’s cold (likely, considering what some drugs can do to one’s awareness of things like temperature), Nakajima curls more and more into himself on his side, pulling the blanket up his face. Ridiculous, that he’s on Chuuya’s couch right now. Ridiculous, that Chuuya doesn’t call Akutagawa. Fucking Dazai.

Chuuya stands abruptly. Nakajima blinks in response.

“Rest,” Chuuya says again, then promptly retreats to his bedroom.

Dazai is sprawled out on Chuuya’s bed, twisting the soft black covers beneath him, hair fanned out over the pillow. He’s got a few bruises on his cheek but there’s no blood, Chuuya recognizes first, then recognizes second that Dazai is on his fucking bed.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Chuuya says. Throws his hands up in the air, lets out a noise like a yell without any air — makes a scandalized face that Dazai only blinks at, throws his arms back down, then towards Dazai, into the air, then out, gesturing widely at the room around him. Every loose object in the room raises about a centimeter, drops, raises. “When the fuck did you get here!” He crosses the room in two long strides, pulls the lounging Dazai off the bed by his shoulders, and shakes him. “Your stupid kid is high out of his mind in the living room!”

Dazai groans, fake, squeezing his eyes shut. “Chuuya, Chuuya,” he whines, putting on a strange voice like a telenovela housewife, “Chuuya, my head is killing me!”

“You’ve done worse drugs,” Chuuya says, but he brings up a hand to start prying Dazai’s eyelids open and check his pupils. Yelping, Dazai bats him away, wiggles out of his grip, then rolls floppily onto the other side of the bed. He pats the space next to him in invitation.

“Fuck you,” Chuuya says.

Dazai just frowns.

The window is open, Chuuya realizes, a breeze fluttering the blackout curtains. This is somehow an even worse realization than finding Dazai on his bed, and Chuuya has to fully turn on his heel so he’s facing away from Dazai. He grabs his face in his hands, bounces on his heels once, twice, thrice. The idiot had either broken into the apartment below and climbed up to the penthouse or started from the roof and climbed down — either way, it’s so ridiculous and unnecessary that the thought of it gives Chuuya heart palpitations.

“You have a key to this apartment!” Chuuya hisses, although something about it feels like he shouldn’t say it out loud, like it’s an admittance. “Why would you-!”

Dazai hums in a way that tells Chuuya he won’t get an explanation. Either he’d done it for fun or done it because it was all part of some stupid plan or mind game or manipulation. Chuuya decided he didn’t care, because the more pressing question was—

“Why would you give that kid my address?” He steps forward so his knees are bumping the mattress.

Doe-eyed and innocent, Dazai stares up at him. “Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, “Chuuya is a good babysitter…”

“I’m going to kill you,” Chuuya says, but he doesn’t add his usual violence to it because he’s squinting at Dazai’s pupils. Blown pupils, but his cheeks are a normal warmth, he seems perfectly able to move himself around. No need for the damn narcan, which is a blessing, because Chuuya’s had to give Dazai narcan more times than he’d like in this lifetime.

Dazai pats the spot next to him again. Rolling his eyes, Chuuya acquiesces. Shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee; fifteen, twenty-two. They sit in quiet a moment, Dazai taking deep breaths Chuuya recognizes as an attempt to sober up. The summer breeze through the window adds a bit of warmth to the cold room. Nakajima is humming that tune again, loud enough to hear through a closed door. Chuuya closes his eyes.

“I escaped a little faster than I meant, but I got good information,” Dazai muses. When Chuuya glances over, an eyebrow raised, he waves his hand in dismissal. “Agency business.”

“Agency business,” Chuuya repeats flatly, “but you can send Nakajima here in the middle of it.” He’s indignant, even though an hour ago he said whoever drugged the two of them wasn’t his problem. It’s the principle of the matter — he can decide he doesn’t care. Dazai can’t decide that for him.

Yawning, Dazai scratches at his jaw. “I didn’t specifically send him here. I gave him your information a long time ago. You were closer than the Agency.” The drugs are making him a bit less playful, more direct than usual. His gaze is sort of lizard-like, unfocused on the wall opposite him. “Chuuya’s a good babysitter,” he repeats. Chuuya could vomit. He leans a bit away from Dazai, but Dazai just lifts one leg and settles it over Chuuya’s, holding him in contact.

They’re silent for a long moment, in which Nakajima begins to giggle, repeating Pingus to himself several times.

“What’re you doing with this kid?” Chuuya finally asks, glancing sidelong at Dazai.

There’s that Dazai smile. The actor one, the robot one, that reaches his eyes as though it’s clawing for them. “Does Chuuya have a soft spot?” he asks, leaning back into Chuuya’s space, chin hitting Chuuya’s shoulder. He whines when Chuuya plants a hand on his face and pushes him off. With the momentum he falls over himself so that he’s become a ball on Chuuya’s bed, moaning about how mean and awful and cruel Chuuya is.

“No,” Chuuya bites, “I just wanna know what you’re planning in your stupid mackerel brain.”

Said mackerel doesn’t respond for a while. Chuuya is reaching out to jostle him when he realizes the rise and fall of his back is real, actual sleep, and his hand stops in the air.

“Damn it,” he says, but it’s a quiet mutter. Out in the living room, Nakajima’s quieted, too.

He stands. Goes into the living room. Stares at the now-sleeping kid for a long moment. In sleep he’s serene, cheeks thin but still childlike, face still all smooth like an artist had just gone over the clay of him with her thumbs. Pingus curls under his chin. All sweet, except for the brown-red on Nakajima’s jaw, resting against Pingus’s dark fur.

Chuuya crosses into the kitchen, sits heavy in a chair, and considers. Considers — all of the safe houses Dazai could have sent Nakajima off to. Considers that stupid tune Nakajima and Dazai seem to love, and the edge to both their smiles, and the vigor with which Akutugawa and Nakajima hate each other. Considers how a man was dead, and how he probably deserved to die, but it had been a desperate, drugged eighteen year-old on a job who’d done it. Considers Chuuya’s a good babysitter, and tea with the Akutugawas, and Nakajima’s braces. He comes to no satisfactory conclusions.